Oneself, Nothing Else
by Asluriel
Summary: CH.4 ADDED (02.13) More on forbidden curses and ancient magic, brooding Potion Masters, manipulative twinkling smiles, dark lords with diabolical connections and, of course, the unforgettable bushy-haired genius. HGSS
1. Prologue

****

**Disclaimer**: I own nothing but the plot, and even some of that is not mine. All belongs to the great JK Rowling. I do this purely for my own enjoyment, and perhaps to the utter misery of others **coughA.B.cough**, who would like nothing better than for me to stop. Sorry fellas, not gonna happen…

**Summary**: Forbidden curses and ancient magic, brooding Potion Masters, manipulative twinkling smiles, dark lords with diabolical connections and, of course, the unforgettable bushy-haired genius. HG/SS 

Rating may change.

All spelling and grammatical errors are mine (this is what happens when there is no beta, can't blame blunders on anyone else… *kidding*). I have read so many stories that it is most probable  that I might have 'gleaned' things off other authors. If you recognize anything that is yours, I apologize and would be more than happy to acknowledge you. Please do not take offense. For now, I think that Mavidian and Regann are the biggest factors and sources of inspiration. 

Reviews and comments (including the dreaded flames) are more than welcome. If I steer towards clichés, please let me know IMMEDIATELY, but I think I have enough twists planned to veer away from the danger zone.

****

**Prologue**

Wormtail had strived for glory. Glory, at last, would be his.

Of that, Wormtail was certain.

A wave of paranoia hit him. He clutched frantically at his pockets for the umpteenth time, and relaxed as his grubby fingers touched smooth leather. He patted the precious,  bulky cargo, reassuring himself of its existence. 

The Dark Lord would be infinitely pleased. Wormtail drew his robes tighter around his body, hugging them against the chill of the night. His heart thudded wildly with giddy anticipation. No gift could compete with the Memoirs of Lady Zeirka; except perhaps Dumbledore's lifeless head crowned upon Potter's dead body. 

The Dark Lord would be pleased and he, Wormtail, would rise to glory.

* * * * *

"Headmaster!"

Severus Snape burst into Dumbledore's office; his eyes alight with dark fire. The Potions Master's normally unreadable features were contorted; his expression betraying raw fear. There was a tinge of indefinable urgency to his stance, his roughened voice. 

It is too early in the day, sighed the Headmaster, for _anything_. 

"Calm down, child." soothed Dumbledore, as Fawkes lost his balance and fell off the perch. The chagrined phoenix shook his feathers and glared at Snape haughtily, before flying toward Dumbledore's beckoning arm.

"I received word from young Mr. Malfroy regarding the most recent Death Eater gathering," began Snape grimly, "and, it seems that the Dark Lord was delighted. So much that he referred to that idiot – Wormtail – as his Favored One."

"Ah. Yes. As in accordance with Mr. Potter's dream-vision. Go on." nodded Dumbledore, frowning slightly. "Did Mr. Malfroy mention why?"

"It seems that Wormtail has done the unthinkable." Severus sank into a chair, rubbed the bridge of his nose and sighed. 

"Which would be?" The Headmaster prompted with slight irritation. Really! The boy had yet to learn how to curb his dramatic tendencies. 

"Stealing what had been guarded for eight centuries." Snape paused and breathed deeply. "The Memoirs of Lady Zeirka are currently in the possession of Lord Voldemort."

There was a tense silence.

"What do we do, Albus?" asked Snape wretchedly, after awhile. 

"Nothing. We wait and watch and pray."

"Like _always_." snapped Snape, angry. 

"What do you want me to do, child?" The wizened wizard asked, his blue eyes devoid of their ethereal glow and twinkle. "What do you propose we do?"

Snape pressed his lips into a thin, bloodless line and said nothing.

"Exactly." Dumbledore leaned back into his chair. "Tom won't let that book out of his sight. We will remain vigilant, of course, but there will be little chance of recovering it. Tell Draco, - Listen! Pay me heed Severus Snape! – firmly instruct Mr. Malfroy not to endanger himself whistle trying to recapture the book or some equally foolish endeavor. He is too valuable among Voldemort's ranks to be lost crying over spilt milk.  And kindly ask Madam Pince to retrieve the remaining ancient texts from Wizberlot as swiftly as possible. Meanwhile, send a notice to Minerva, Filius and Fleora: they must be told immediately."

Snape nodded, almost numb. "What will you do?"

"I'll send a word to Fudge; as much as I hate to admit it, he will need to know about this. As will the rest of the Order." The older wizard conjured a quill and parchment. He looked thoughtfully passed the head of the brooding man sitting in front of him, staring distantly at a invisible point. "Inform the others that their will be a staff meeting." He added, absently stroking is beard. 

"When? We can't do it today. Many are still on _vacation_." Snape spat the last word out, disgusted, as if it were a dark, illegal indulgence.

"Nor tomorrow – things are quite hectic after the Sorting. " pondered Dumbledore. 

"Quite." agreed Snape, thinking of the chaotic jumble of first years, last minute curriculum preparations and God-Knows-What-Else.

"It'll have to be after the second day of lessons." The old man said.

"Won't that be too long?"

"I do not think that Voldemort will act in such haste."

Snape could almost hear his mentor's brain thinking, working, plotting, ticking. Knowing he had been dismissed, he strode out of the office and set off executing the Headmaster's instructions with practiced efficiency. 

"Of course, Headmaster." 

Lost in deep contemplation, Albus Dumbledore barely heard him.

* * * * *

**Extract from:**

**The Memoirs of Lady Zeirka **

**Pg 249**

_… and so with boldly spoken words, clutching the horn of a unicorn in one shaking hand, She stirred the core of the dragon; its rage, its madness, waking the forsaken creature from its peaceful slumber. Thick, garnet blood rose heatedly from the cauldron where the last of the slain dragon bubbled. A rich torrent flowed upwards into the night, a red velveteen river rose to kiss Her outstretched palm._

_"Be Damned Salazar!" She cursed Her lover vehemently. It was for his own good. "Be Damned!"_

_With those humble words, the dragon rose. Bloody droplets splattered on Her face, staining Her sallow skin, while Her eyes closed in ecstasy. _

_She embraced the sweet wetness, knowing that miles away, a man called Salazar Slytherin would do what his heart least desired. _

_He would abandon that strange land, that queer castle of his. And then, he would be free. _

_He would come to her…_

* * * * *

"Headmaster? You called?" asked Severus, a bit disgruntled at being interrupted in the middle of the night, his displeasure snubbed by concern. 

"I have just received Charlie Weasley's owl–" sighed Dumbledore at the head bobbing up and down in his fireplace. "A Norwegian Ridgeback has not been sighted by Keeper's for awhile: it seems that the dragon has abandoned her nest."

"Nest?" questioned Snape.

"A nest of seven eggs, two of which have hatched." replied Dumbledore uncharacteristically morose. "It makes it even more peculiar for a mother dragon to disappear for days while nursing the young."

"We know better, don't we?" Snape ran a elegant hand through his greasy hair; an unconscious movement designed to relieve stress. He winced. Another thing to sort out for tomorrow: greasy hair. 

"Yes, we do child."

"What does the boy know?"

"Mr. Weasley is part of the Order, Severus. He already knows the whole story, else I doubt he would have alerted me to the humble matter of a dragon's disappearance."

The two men stared at each other.

"Well, the boy always did have impeccable timing." said Snape derisively, before vanishing into a blur of green flames.

* * * * *

"Hermione!" Ginny squealed, pulling the older girl into a warm hug. "Congratulations, girl!" 

The two remaining Weasleys at Hogwarts, along with the Boy Who Lived had Floo-ed from the Burrow, as Hermione had done so from her parent's house, directly to the Gryffindor common room. Traveling by train had become quite unsafe for the four, especially since they were prime targets for the Death Eaters. 

Hermione responded just as enthusiastically, before the firing into a conversation, tongues jabbering at full speed. Over the years, with Hermione's quiet understanding and Ginny's growing maturity, the two girls had become quite close friends. 

Ron rolled his eyes while Harry grinned at the particularly _girlish_ display. 

"Nice to see you too, 'Mione" said Ron, tweaking her bushy brown ponytail.

"Yeah. Ron and I just _know_ how much you missed us with that heartfelt welcoming speech." Harry chimed in.

"Sarcasm is an art  best left to the masters, Harry. Don't even _try_." Hermione said briskly. Then with a  glint in her eye, she added pompously. "It's good to see you, boys."

Ron turned to Harry in mock horror. "Did you hear that, mate?" He paused, frowning. "Although, Percy was a bit quicker on picking up the Holier-Than-Thou Act."

"Had to happen sooner or later," agreed Harry, forlorn. "With being Head Girl and all. Still, she did call me Harry…"

"Well, you're the Boy-Who-Lived, aren't you? She's not about to forget your name in a hurry." retorted Ron. "Me, on the other hand…"

"C'mon, _boys_. There might hope for the old Hermione Granger yet," the Hogwart's Head Girl said, linking her arms through those of her best friends. 

"Besides," Ginny added with a quick wink, "Anyone can see that she hasn't completely crossed over to the other side."

"How?" challenged Harry.

"She hasn't polished her badge _nearly_ enough times."

"Let's move people." Hermione cut in. "The Sorting's about to start. We don't want to late."

Harry observed the retreating brown head, followed by a fiery red one as Ron started walking away towards the Great Hall. He turned to Ginny. 

"You might want to reconsider that theory of yours, Gin." He laughed, pulling her to him and placing a slight kiss on her forehead. Ginny blushed and the pair hurried after the others.  

* * * * *

… and so with boldly spoken words, clutching the horn of a unicorn in one shaking hand, He stirred the core of the dragon; its rage, its madness, waking the forsaken creature from its peaceful slumber. Thick, garnet blood rose heatedly from the cauldron where the last of the slain dragon bubbled. A rich torrent flowed up towards the sky, a red velveteen river rose to kiss His outstretched palm.

"Be Damned Mudblood!" He cursed. "Be Damned!"

With those humble words, the dragon rose. Bloody droplets splattered on His face, staining His sallow skin, while His eyes closed in ecstasy. 

He embraced the sweet wetness, knowing that miles away, a woman called Hermione Granger would do what her heart least desired. 

Then, she would come to Him…

Lord Voldemort smiled – a perversion contentment. He allowed Wormtail to lift his exhausted frame from the ground to his throne. Zeirka's Curse had taken a lot out of him – he would need a few weeks to recover. But it would be worth it, if all went according to plan. 

The Dark Lord turned to his Favored One.

"Wormtail?"

"Yes, Master?" The pudgy man replied kissing the hem of Voldemort's robes. 

One long, reptilian finger reached out to raise the other man's chin until human and monster were face-to-face. 

"Well done, my child." 

* * * * *

A/N: Okay, I can't get the damn formatting sorted, so I promise that future chapters will be better.

Did you like it? Too confusing? Don't fret… all will be revealed (**How many times have you heard that before, eh?**) 

I apologize for spelling and grammatical errors, I don't have a beta… 

In case you were wondering, the main ship will be HG/SS. Don't like. Don't read. Rating may change. For those of you who do not mind HG/SS, please be patient. You'll see the both of them quite soon, all though it will be… sorta… rocky. I have never believed that their two personalities would simply click, and I do NOT want to rush the story. 

Reviews: The Good, the Bad and the Ugly are all welcome… even The Musings and General Discussions. 

Enjoy and Happy New Year 2003/04!!


	2. Chapter One

**Disclaimer**: I own nothing but the plot, and even some of that is not mine. All belongs to the great JK Rowling. 

**Summary**: Forbidden curses and ancient magic, brooding Potion Masters, manipulative twinkling smiles, dark lords with diabolical connections and, of course, the unforgettable bushy-haired genius. HG/SS 

Rating may change. 

PG for language. Please let me know if it too little or too high… I can't really tell and I do not want to risk anything.

****

****

****

**Chapter One:**

We do not deserve this, Snape thought, staring unblinkingly into the fire, the heat making his eyes water.

His black orbs were idly focused on the heated tongues of the orange flame. They moved erratically, each strand bursting outwards from the blazing core before falling back inside. A few outgoing tails withered in ecstasy; they waved their red flags proudly before falling victim and merging with the rest of the burning yellow mass. New fiery strands nipped out take their place. An infinite, pointless cycle.

It had only been two days of lessons, and Snape found himself shamefully envious of the innocence that bubbled in his  every class. He was the hardest on the juniors, jealously hating and pitying them for their idealistic perceptions of the world. At least the senior students didn't have idiotic grins plastered their faces as they strolled into his classroom. Not that anybody felt like grinning in his presence, for that matter. He had made quite sure of that.  

The Dark Lord had the _Memoirs of Zeirka_, and with it, the power to deliver a hammering blow to the Order.

We do not deserve this. 

"Severus?" 

Snape swiveled his head and saw Dumbledore standing in the doorway. He waved his hand; a vague invitation.

Dumbledore glided into his private chambers, taking a seat next to the younger man, diverting his attention to the fire as well. The fire was secretly gratified at having captured the interest of two formidable wizards. 

"What do you want, old man?" Snape asked, his voice gruff.

"You are angry with me." It was a simple statement.

"I would have thought that it was obvious enough without needing a full fledged declaration"

"What do you want me to say, child?" 

"Words are futile, Headmaster. Why waste your breath?"

"I need you, Severus." 

"You always have." Snape turned and faced Dumbledore. "I have repaid my debts, old man. I am free. And in the light of my freedom, I refuse to take your proposal further, especially since the _Memoirs_ have been stolen from Wizberlot. We have little hope left, now."

"You will never be free." said the wizened wizard quietly, ignoring the rest of Snape's speech.

Snape laughed, a hollow barking noise. "Yes." He admitted. "You are right at that. But I am free of you. That, at least, I have to be thankful for. You are usually as bad as the Dark Lord."

"And you will not abandon me," continued Dumbledore softly, still watching the flames, "because Tom exists, and Necessity call upon us to have him destroyed."

Beady black eyes regarded the bent posture of the mighty wizard. "There are other ways to destroy the Dark Lord."

"None assured to succeed as this."

"Your plan has many flaws, Albus, " Snape pointed out. " and its has become more vulnerable to failure since the Dark Lord proudly holds the _Memoirs of Lady Zeirka_ in his hands."

Dumbledore shook his head impatiently, still refusing to face the Potions Master.

"Tom will never believe that I would consent to the act which we plan to execute."

"Let alone devise the idea behind it." said Snape triumphantly.

"It is perhaps not the ideal solution," –Snape snorted at this– "but it is a solution that _will_ _work_." emphasized Dumbledore, turning, at last look at him. "We cannot afford anything less. I need you, Severus-"

"We agree on that, although nothing else at this stage."

"-and you must help me. I cannot do this alone." 

Snape remained silent for a long time. 

"You must help me, child. You know that. There is no help for it." finished Dumbledore, cracking one of his notorious ironies. The Headmaster stood up, and proceeded to leave, before the Snape's voice beckoned him back. 

"Why are you so intent on carrying this through?" The Potions Master called out, massaging the bridge of his nose.

"Because I, like you, am a pawn, Severus." sighed Dumbledore, pausing at the doorway. "Mordred. Ivan. Sauron. Grindewald. Voldemort. Who will be next?" The old man shook his head. "Shall I tell you something, child? It doesn't matter. Because good men will die, pawns like us will die after having completed our purpose, and the infinite cycle will continue for another pointless season. Pages of history will be written and turned and be promptly forgotten, along with you and I and Voldemort. We can do nothing but what is asked of us, child, and I am doing simply that. It is my misfortune, and yours, that in the end, our efforts will come to no affect, they were only mirrored by the past and will be repeated in the future."

Snape stared, surprised at the particularly cynical revelation, from a person whom he had least expected to dwell on such matters.

"You are too modest, Albus." said Snape, "You? A pawn? Never."

Dumbledore raised an eyebrow, knowing there was more to come.

"A Knight, perhaps?"

Dumbledore laughed, a deep genuine sound. "Well, I always fancied being a Rook myself." He said, slowly moving away. "Stability, speed, power and all that. Knights are too unpredictable for my taste."

"Indeed." murmured Snape, his face impassive, betrayed only by the predatory gleam in his eyes. "Perhaps Minerva could humor you with her giant chess set?" He was delighted to witness Dumbledore's face blanch.

"Ah. So you have heard that she doesn't approve."

"How could I not? Mind you, I agree with her."

"She'll come around."

"Like I did?" Snape asked. "She's better at resisting your charms, Albus, and I hope for all our sakes, that she maintains her sanity and blatantly refuses."

Snape closed and warded his door, forcing the Headmaster to depart. 

An hour later, when Snape was sure that dinner had finished, he emerged from the dungeons and walked briskly to the staff room. How he could bear to see the gloating Headmaster so soon after the old bat had (once again) manipulated him, he did not know. Snape sighed. This staff meeting would be more humiliating than most. 

* * * * *

" 'Mione? Hermione?"

Startled, she looked up to see the grinning face of Ron Weasley. Beside him, Harry and Ginny were wearing similar expressions of amusement.

"You still with us?"

"Yeah," Hermione replied. What was happening to her? It wasn't even the second day of lessons, and she was feeling so… _drained_. "Yeah, I'm still here."

"Didn't look like it." said Harry, smiling. "Was our Head Girl was drifting off into dreams of glory?"

"Glory is something you're not bound to get from that match," retorted Hermione, referring to his chess pieces, most of whom were dead or angry or both. "Besides, I'm surprised that you had the time to notice, Harry." She looked meaningfully at Ginny, and both of them reddened. 

Ron sniggered, receiving sharp glares from both his sister and his best friend.

The pair - that is to say Harry and Ginny – had been thrown even closer together during the war, each helping the other to confront their respective experiences at the hands of Voldemort, especially since Ginny had yet to recover a small piece of her soul back from the evil Lord. Their unique bond had wavered at the edge of being platonic during their sixth-year, and was catapulted into a full relationship over the summer holidays, after the Prophecy's more horrible details were slowly materializing into reality. Harry had needed someone he could relate to, someone who could fathom the full extent of Voldemort's emotional mind games, and Hermione had been relieved beyond words when Ginny had risen to the occasion. Ron had been quite understanding about the whole thing, and it had become a standing joke to pull between the four of them. It is all we have left, Hermione thought, real people with personalities and feelings and dreams and goals and the ability to share all of it with others. Voldemort, however, was deviously plotting to take it away from them. 

"Are you okay, 'Mione?" Ginny asked, peering up at her from her relaxed form on the floor. Ron was next to  her, playing chess with Harry, who sat cross-legged across from the victoriously smug redhead.

"Yeah, I'm fine. Just a bit tired." Hermione replied. She saw Ginny frown. "Don't worry, Gin. I'm probably still in Holiday Mode." She yawned. "I think I'm going to go up to bed early, today. Good night, everybody."

After receiving a chorus of "Good Night's", Hermione clambered out of the portrait hole, and strode hurriedly to her private room, eager to rest her exhausted body. Her lack of stamina did concern her, but she shrugged it off. Quickly casting the password under a breath, she readied herself for the night, and slipped under the warm covers of her four-poster bed. 

_That's it,_ whispered a voice in her brain, _that's it._ _Go to sleep, my dearest human_.

_Yes_, Hermione replied silently,_ I need sleep_.

* * * * *

Pop. Pop.

"Where the fuck did she go?"

"I don't know. I thought you were keeping an eye on her."

"Something's up, Kingsley. This ain't right."

"You mean apart from the fact that a teenager rattled off the Killing Curse _twice_ within the space of 20 minutes? And the fact that she managed to escape from two fully trained Aurors?

"Oh, shut up."

"Sorry, Parker. I know what you mean. It's scaring me as well."

"I never said I was scared, Kingsley."

"We gotta go to Dumbledore. The old man needs to know about this."

"What about Minister Fudge?"

"What about him? He's a sodding idiot, Parker. This is for Dumbledore. We'll deal with Fudge later."

"I don't like this."

"There's nothing to like, mate. Let's Apparate to Hogsmeade, and we'll walk from there."

Pop. Pop. 

* * * * *

A/N: Righty-O. I know it hasn't answered all the questions, but please be patient. And don't worry, the name Sauron will be the only thing related to LotR, it's not going to be a cross over or anything. 

Too confusing? Too OOC? Too short? Any errors? Any ideas? Anything?! As I said before, all comment are welcome: please R/R!! 

Speaking of, THANK YOU TO ALL MY REVIEWERS!!! YOU MADE MY DAY!!!

Hawklaw and Vene Crystallline: Thank you! Made me smile and grin all day! And gave me a little extra motivation to write. Special thanks to Vene Crystallline for being my first reviewer.

Saerelle: Hmm… I see what you mean… Harry and Ginny do come out of the blue: thanks for pointing it out. Although, I hope the above chapter made it a bit better and less repulsive. I think I should have provided more explanation in the last chapter, but if it is the actual pairing that disturbs you (and not the portrayal) then I can't really do anything about it. They aren't their just for the fun of it, I need them to be together for the plot. J On the Snape thing, I was hoping that the readers would take the Zeirka thing seriously, by seeing the temporary change in Snape's persona. I guess that didn't work … oh well! *sighs* Thank you, I needed the criticism. 

Makalani Astral: Don't worry! I never though it was realistic for Hermione to trapeze over to the Dark Side, either. All will be revealed. (LOL I love saying that: makes me feel all giddy with power… muahahaha…)

Still can't get the damn formatting sorted! Excuse the incredulously large gaps between sentences. 


	3. Chapter Two

**Disclaimer**: I own nothing but the plot, and even some of that is not mine. All belongs to the great JK Rowling. 

**Summary**: Forbidden curses and ancient magic, brooding Potion Masters, manipulative twinkling smiles, dark lords with diabolical connections and, of course, the unforgettable bushy-haired genius. HG/SS 

****

****

**Chapter Two:**

Severus Snape refused to even face the region of the staff room where, seated comfortably on plump leather armchair, contently chewing away his precious collection of sickening sweets, was a man mocking the word sane.  "Off his rocker," was an affectionate phrase that young Mr. Weasley had once used to address the Headmaster, but Snape, who was currently determined to gaze out of the window, grimly reflected that he too might be compelled to use the phrase as long it was modified with the odd expletive and intoned with anything but affection. Too bad the subject of his ill thoughts had once saved his life, and was currently saving many others, although Snape had a suspicion that it was hope Albus Dumbledore was valiantly trying to protect, rather than the cause. 

He briefly allowed his ears to sink back into the discussion, but was forced to hastily retreat. Snape had no intention of hearing Sinstra drone about gusty Astronomy towers or Hagrid insisting that his latest monstrosity "didn' mean ter do 'ny harm" when it almost strangled a second year Hufflepuff and scorched the fur on the tail-tip of an unsuspecting, and now a very agitated Mrs. Norris. 

He stared out of the window, the glassy pane capturing the blurred reflection of the scene that he was choosing adamantly to ignore. Snape forced his eyes to focus deeper; he wanted to look through the warped, moving images of his colleagues and ensnare the dark landscape beyond.

How long had it been? Snape wondered. How long would it take to end? Twenty three years ago, the saga had started. His mind drifted further and further way from Hogwarts, withdrawing into the past. A small voice told him to stop before he went too deep; to stop before he ruined a reasonable day, but Snape was too tired, too knackered to summon the willpower to control his musings.  He could remember his younger counterpart with surprising vividness. Twenty three years ago, he had been _alive_. Not happy, not content but at least he had been… alive… not shrouded by a suffocating mixture of exhaustion, self pity, hopelessness and rage as he was now. His nineteen year old self had toiled through university, exhilarated by every challenge and was steadily rising towards the prestigious title of Potions Master. He wasn't happy by a long shot, but his books and cauldrons kept him sane. His worries were that of an arrogant, self centered prat: Gods! He would do anything to be troubled by futile, petty concerns again. Snape remembered he had been capable of forming dreams, of being revoltingly ambitious about his future: he had paid dearly for his ignorance of the real world. 

The very drive that had allowed him to become the youngest graduate at Araines Academia for Astounding Academics had also attracted the attention of a rising Lord Voldemort. The Dark Lord had promised to foresee and continue Snape's education, provided him with access to some generous libraries, exotic ingredients, and lavish laboratories. Voldemort had ensured that Snape's ambition as well as his desire to learn had been satisfied in an instant, but it had come at a price that Snape thought (at least in the beginning) was a reasonable sum to pay. He had sworn his allegiance and had faithfully promised that all his academic endeavors would be to the benefit of the Death Eater squad. 

Though he would never admit it, Severus Snape had been flattered. The Dark Lord had called upon him; he who was a juvenile. Voldemort had not approached a mere 19 year old for money, social stature or political associations; for all three had been wholly out of Snape's reach. Snape's overlooked existence had finally been acknowledged by a man who appreciated the younger prodigy's true talents. Of course, he had been plagued by the thought that the first human who had ever acknowledged him in a positive light was an evil tyrant, but Snape felt no need to safeguard the well being of a world that had offered him nothing worthwhile.

He sipped his tea idly for the next hour, waiting for Dumbledore to dismiss the majority of the staff, bar the Heads of Houses and perhaps Remus Lupin. Snape flicked his eyes ominously to land upon werewolf's haggard face who, to Snape's glee, seemed to be suffering as much from sheer boredom as he. An instant later, he found himself at the receiving end of a formidable glare from a put-off Gryffindor Head. Snape shifted his eyes to a less hostile target. More tea, he sighed, reaching out for the pot to refill his cup.

"Well, I believe we can call it a night," said Dumbledore cheerfully, standing up and ushering most of the staff out of the door. "Until next week, my friends. Er… Remus, Pamela? If I could have a word?" 

Snape had always admired how the old man managed to get rid of people so efficiently without appearing rude. He, himself, had to resort to biting remarks. The dark man nearly smiled when he realized with whom he was comparing himself to.  Slowly, at what seemed to be an unbearable pace for him, the rest of his colleagues trickled out with slumped backs and grumbling mutters, before Dumbledore cast a series of quick charms to seal their privacy. Snape straightened in his chair, his dormant brain mentally shrugging itself awake. As he cast an eye around the room, he knew that Flitwick, Sprout and Lupin would be doing the same. 

"We have little time to discuss," began Dumbledore, the jovial façade absent from his stance. "Let us make haste. Pamela, have you managed to obtain the rest of the ancient texts?"

Madam Pince snorted in an unladylike manner. "Lord Flabberly isn't a fool, Albus. We've underestimated him. As soon as he learnt that the _Memoirs_ had been stolen, he's tightened the noose around Wizberlot. I doubt you'd be able to weasel out the _Standard Book of Spells _out of that place." She paused. "He doesn't trust you, Albus–"

"With good reason," interrupted Minerva darkly. Flitwick frowned at her, but Snape figured it would be remarkably easy for the lioness to ignore his squeaky reprimand.

" –he doesn't trust anyone. His Lordship is a miser, and it seems that parting with each page from his library, causes him excruciating pain."

"But?" prompted Flitwick, eyeing the Librarian thoughtfully.

"But, he might come around." admitted Pince. "Hey! Look – Albus, I said _might_. Don't count on it." She added, seeing the exultant look on the Headmaster's face.

"I have faith in your abilities, Pamela." said the Headmaster, beaming. "But I must impress upon you that if you cannot bring the scrolls to Hogwarts, make sure that They-Are-Secured. Tom _must not_ be able to repeat his actions."

"Whom, may I ask," questioned McGonagall icily. "will have the debatable honor of decoding the scriptures if, God forbid, we manage to get access to the scrolls?"

"I am sure that many would eagerly volunteer," Dumbledore answered, before turning to Lupin. "Remus, what news?"

"This is ridiculous!" exploded McGonagall, incensed. She continued in a quieter tone, her voice low and hissing. "This is not the way things are meant to be! What has happened to us?" She took a deep, shuddering breath and rose from her seat. Her hands were clenched into tight fists that hung stiffly by her sides, the sharp outlines of tendons and veins bursting from pale skin in barely controlled rage. "Never would I have believed that Albus Dumbledore, Bringer of Light and Headmaster of Hogwarts, would shatter the very laws of Magic while seeking victory." She declared, a fierce challenge glinting in her eyes as she pinned the subject of her speech.

"Now, really!" protested Flitwick, indignant. "That is out of line-"

The rest of his words were silenced, as McGonagall turned on him. "Equally, I am disappointed with his so-called friends, most of whom lack the courage-" 

Dumbledore leaned back, gently removing his half-moon glasses and wiping them with his robes, as he did so.  He raised a hand that beckoned silence.

"And what," He asked, massaging his brow with frail, thin fingers. "What would you have me do? What would _you_ do to fully ensure the downfall of darkness? People are losing their strength, Minerva, we cannot be expected to live and fight forever. Tom must be ruined completely. That is the promise the wizarding world is holding us to." Dumbledore rose from his chair and approached his seething deputy, blue eyes reeking with an indescribable plea. "Help me keep their promise. Please. I cannot do this alone."

Minerva blanched and took a step backwards toward the door, her previous fury dimmed by the expression on his face. "You must understand, Albus. I cannot. Voldemort holds a force which will bend a poor soul to his evil will and have it destroyed. The fact that you will broach the same force, the same darkness, risking everything which Voldemort wishes to obliterate…" McGonagall trailed off weakly, "I am your staunch ally for everything, but this. I cannot… There are better ways and I will not endorse this action while other opportunities lie dormant." She finished, holding Dumbledore's unwavering gaze. Quickly scanning the room, and finding no support, Minerva McGonagall nodded curtly at her colleagues before abruptly departing from the room.  The magical wards gleamed blue in her wake.

The palpable tension that had vibrated in the air moments before was dispelled by the Headmaster's saddened sigh. The elderly wizard moved towards the fireplace, resting lightly against the wooden edging. His shoulders drooped, his spine was slightly curved and Snape knew that the angry departure of a lifelong friend had left the man sapped of energy. 

"What news, Remus?" asked the Headmaster wearily, as if the weight of all his years were bearing down upon him like an unseen force. 

Lupin, his face teeming with compassion and sorrow for his employer, visibly composed himself. "Warrick and Mesolf have reported nothing of significance. Zeirka's lands have been brimming with Magic, of course, but no sign of other abnormal activity. Especially that of Voldemort."

"Good. Good." said Flitwick, smiling and rubbing his hands together. "When do I get to go on my vacation, Remus?"

Lupin grinned at the tiny Professor's enthusiasm. "I don't see why you can't pack tonight."

"No." interrupted Snape firmly, while Dumbledore nodded in agreement from the far end of the room. "You cannot go. Not until we have determined which among us is Cursed by the Dark Lord."

"I know that." retorted Flitwick impatiently, "I'm not one of your impertinent first years, Severus. But Merlin's beard! We do not even know the precise affects of the Curse, and yet, all plans for the Order have been placed on hold!  What if He decides to Curse more than one individual? What then? Do we wait in fear forever?"

"I doubt Tom will have enough strength to conjure Zeirka's Curse a second time," replied Dumbledore, cutting of whatever snide reply Snape had in mind. "And I doubt any of his henchmen have the necessary skill to attempt such Magic." The twinkle returned briefly. "Besides, slaying numerous dragons without raising an uproar is no easy task."

"So, we'll be safe after the initial blow?"  

Half the room jumped at the voice. It was easy to forget the unobtrusive presence of Fleora Sprout. Snape was sure, however, that the intuitive witch observed more from listening than she let on. It had taken years for him to come to the simple realization about Sprout, one that he had reached after puzzling why Dumbledore had invited the gentle professor to grave meetings while excluding more active personalities like Vector and Sinstra. 

"I should hope so, yes." 

Suddenly, the wards on the doorway morphed into visible red.

"Who calls?" demanded Dumbledore, altering the charms so his words could reach outside ears. 

"Oh, for Heaven's sake! It's Minerva," sounded an exasperated feminine voice.   As she stepped onto the threshold of the room once more, they could all see deep worry lines creasing her face, and the hint of trepidation in her eyes.  

"Two men from the Ministry direly wish to see you, Albus." McGonagall stated grimly, mincing her words. "I've shown them to your office."

* * * * *

Hermione was woken up by the persistent, sharp rapping noises of a Ministry Owl. She didn't know there was an owl furiously assaulting her window with its pointed beak.  Waking from a vague, wispy dream; bleary eyed and heavy headed, she had stumbled around for a good five minutes trying to determine the source of the irritating racket. When she had seen the brown owl bobbing outside her window, all traces of sleep had vanished. 

Forcing herself to calm down, she unfastened the latch and opened her window, telling herself that it must be another one of those Head Girl privileges. Somehow, her brain didn't buy that. Stop it Granger, she told herself, you're being bloody ridiculous.

_Dear Miss Granger,_

_We have received intelligence that a Unforgivable Curse was cast with your wand at precisely thirty three minutes past eight outside the workplace of Jonathan Granger, resulting in his immediate death. The same Unforgivable was cast using your wand, precisely seventeen minutes later at eight-fifty-pm at your non-magical residence, resulting in the immediate death of Maria Granger. Further intelligence informs us that you were sighted by two fully qualified Ministry Aurors who will testify against you at your trial. _

_You are therefore charged with performing under-aged sorcery with risk of notice by members of the non magical community; use of magic with the intention to hurt/harm; deliberate attempt to escape secured residence (Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry) and failure to comply and accompany Ministry Aurors. You are also on a double charge for the intentional use of the Unforgivables with the purpose to kill and/or resulting in death._

_The Judicial System of the non magical community has been overridden, hence; in honor of your mother culture, you will receive further equivalent penalties to double charges of First Degree Manslaughter resulting in the deaths of Jonathan and Maria Granger.    _

_Recent developments prevent your immediate arrest, confiscation of your wand and your deportation to Azkaban; so it has been decided that you will remain at __Hogwarts__School__ of Witchcraft and Wizardry under the strict supervision of Headmaster Albus Dumbledore, until the date of your trial._

_Your trial will be held on the 27th of February, in the honorable presence of the Wizengamot, __9:30 am__ at the Ministry Headquarters.  An escort will be provided for you from your place of detention to the Ministry building at __8:30 am__. Failure to attend the trail will result in immediate sentencing. Please read Section 15, Paragraph D, of the Code of Conduct when Coping with Convicted Criminals, for further details. _

_Given the seriousness of the matter, it is strongly recommended that you to settle personal affairs before the trial to prevent complications arising  in the future._

_Hoping that you are well,_

_ (Signed)_

_Cornelius Fudge_

_Minister of Magic_

What the hell …?

Her hands were shaking controllably, making it harder for her to focus on the contents of the letter. Hermione's brain had stopped working after the first line, but something inside her forced her to read on. Each dreadful word was slamming into her chest. By the end of it, her body felt battered and bruised, as if someone had raised an invisible bat and had repeatedly delivered cruel blows. Stop, she wanted plead with the phantom, stop. The gears of her mind were whirring, surged further by adrenaline, trying to make sense… she didn't know how long she had stood there in the middle of her room, her wand casting a melancholy, golden glow of light over her weakening posture and the letter in her quaking hands. It would have seemed, to an onlooker, that the letter was leaching out all power from the Hogwart's Head Girl. There was no onlooker, and Hermione was standing alone for what felt like eternity. 

Slowly, the knots in her stomach loosened. The shock was receding, and blood was flowing back into her knees and chest and brain. Her heart was still hammering away, breaths were still coming in small bursts, but she was beginning to relax. A load of tosh, the whole thing was: absolute rubbish.  A part of her snorted in amusement, dismissing the absurdity of the letter.  She was on the verge of normalcy, before her traitorous eyes briefly glimpsed a flash of sentence. The words hit her with a more crippling gusto, than the entire letter had before:

_…resulting in the deaths of Jonathan and Maria Granger…_

What the hell…?

Hermione frowned. That couldn't be possibly right. Professor Dumbledore had cast a protection spell around her Muggle home.  Obviously, the Ministry didn't know that. They didn't know that it was impossible to attack her parent's residence, which meant that the whole thing was a sham. A mistake, which would undoubtedly be corrected. Another owl will arrive with an apology, she assured herself, looking outside to check if one was already hovering in the air, seeking her attention. She returned from the window, the letter fiercely clutched in a sweaty palm, and collapsed unto her bed. She was tired, so very tired. The Ministry had picked the worst time to botch up: they could have at least waited until the morning to screw up their administration. Propped up against her pillow, Hermione stared at the piece of parchment in her hand. It'd probably take time for the second owl to arrive with an apology for this whole mess, she rationalized, considering the ministry had never been good at admitting their mistakes. And it was exactly that: a mistake.  As her eyes roved from her fist, to her waist, she realized that she was till dressed in school robes. Oh! Hermione, she chastised herself, smiling at her absentmindedness. 

Hermione waited in silence, stretched out on her bed like a cold, still, ashen corpse, with drool escaping from the left corner of her lips. Then, her brain did the unthinkable. With nothing to preoccupy itself, her brain harbored the possibility that an apology might never arrive. Immediately, another voice awakened with a vehemence, declaring that nothing on that filthy piece of officious parchment held a word of truth. That the reality it spoke of, was preposterous. Hermione felt strangely comforted by this bizarre inner battle, mentally cheering on the tiny voice because the other half of her mind had obviously become insane. But, the other half countered maliciously, wasn't this the scenario she had always feared ever since the day she learned of Voldemort's return? Hadn't she spent many sleepless nights, fretting over the wellbeing of her defenseless Muggle parents, tossing, tangling and waging war with her bed sheets during hot, muggy nights? She had felt strong pangs of guilt during her stay at Sirius's mansion, knowing that while she was safe, her parents were horribly exposed to dark workings of Voldemort. It was only when Professor Dumbledore had kindly informed her with twinkling reassuring eyes, that her parents had been put under 'adequate protection', did her worries ease into silence. 

It was the scenario that she had feared, gradually forgotten and now, it was hitting her in the face. A foul, hateful Death Eater had hurt her beloved parents. If that were true, then the letter was right. She had done the Unforgivable: Hermione Granger had abandoned her most beloved ones, leaving them to suffer and survive a situation naught of their doing. A situation that she had inflicted upon them by coming to the wizarding world.  

It couldn't be true. The fact that her parents were gravely injured was an unfathomable possibility, born from a blasted owl delivering a blasted letter, written by blasted idiots who had made serious error and were scaring the living hell out of her. 

Pushing aside all vile thoughts, the stony, motionless figure of Hermione Granger, decided it would be best if no more owls visited her tonight. No sooner had she thought the words, the rapping sound had returned. 

rap! Rap! RAP! Her eyes, again, disobeyed her will. They were seemingly drawn to the crumpled letter in her pale hand. The sight of dark, unpleasant words scribed on creamy white parchment made her dizzy and the sound of distant rapping even more so… nothing made sense anymore. Suddenly, the dam broke and gushing waters raged. 

Oh no. Please don't let it be another owl. Oh Gods, no. My parents? What were they on about? RAP! RAP! Not a another owl, not another owl. '…_resulting in the immediate death of Maria Granger_…" No owls. What is that noise? Didn't make any sense, no sense, NO SENSE! HERMIONE? '… _deportation__ to Azkaban…' _RAP! RAP! RAP! '… _with__ the purpose kill and/or resulting in death…' _NO more OWLS… RAP! RAP! Trial? Granger? Didn't make sense. Granger? Granger?…

"MISS. GRANGER! YOU WILL OPEN THIS DOOR AT ONCE!"

Hermione nearly laughed. It wasn't an owl. This was a bad joke. Someone was at the door. No owls carrying insane letters. That's what really mattered.

* * * * *

A/N: Sooooo… that was a long chapter. If you've managed to get through all of that, I daresay you'll survive all the future crap I write. 

One of my friends lost one of her parents about 3 years ago. She was younger than Hermione, and I drew a lot of Hermione's reactions from my friend's outward appearance… it was absolute hell writing that last chapter… no idea if I pulled it off good or bad. Not quite happy with it, but I need to move on. 

I have discovered a major flaw in the plot which had discouraged me… but, I WILL continue. The time between updates will no longer be on a weekly basis, since I have to re-write all the 7 chapters which I had already produced. Oh well. If I revise any posted chapters, I will let you guys know, but I SINCERELY DOUBT that's going to happen. 

THANKING ALL THOSE WHO REVIEWED: IT MAKES ME VERY HAPPY!!! 

If you noticed that everyone's being a bit nasty to Dumblydorr… I agree! It bothered me to be nasty to such a nice old character, but all will be okay it the end: YAY! 

As always, comments, criticism and encouragement all welcome!!! Although, the last one may be received with extra enthusiasm… *grinz*

PS: This chapter was loaded again, since my computer loaded the draft version, instead of the final version. Both are identical, except that the draft contained spelling/grammatical errors. Apologies to those who read the draft: I didn't note the difference until an hour later.  Speaking of, I don't have a beta and so I apologize in advance for imminent errors. 


	4. Chapter Three

**Chapter Three:**

"Dear girl!," exclaimed Professor McGonagall, as her favorite student opened the door, ashen-faced and trembling. "Come with me, Miss. Granger. We'll be going to the Infirmar – what do you have in your hand? " McGonagall broke off. 

"A-A letter." explained Hermione, cursing her voice for cracking. "But, don't worry, Professor. It's nothing-"

"Of course," interrupted McGonagall worriedly. "Do you mind if I take a look at it?"

"No, not at all." Hermione handed the crumpled parchment to McGonagall, who immediately pocketed it. "It's just a load of tosh anyway."

"You don't seem well to me, Miss. Granger." The Gryffindor head continued more calmly, "I suggest you spend the night in the Infirmary. And perhaps in the morning, you and I can have a little chat."

"Of course, Professor. Might I ask why the need for a talk tomorrow?"

"It's rather late to have it now, don't you think?" smiled McGonagall kindly, while evading her student's question. The pair reached the Infirmary, and McGonagall spoke again. "I shall entrust you to Madam Pomfrey's care. Sleep well, Miss Granger, and I shall see you later."

At hearing her name, as well as a possible patient, the school nurse bustled over to them. "Come, Miss Granger. You might want to change out of your school robes, dear, and I'll hunt out a Dreamless Sleep Potion. Go on with you!" She urged, "Honestly, the poor witch  looks ready to collapse… driving kids too hard these days…"

"Thank you, Poppy" McGonagall smiled and nodded briefly at each of them before turning on her heel. 

And with that, Hermione's Head of House left her to the school nurse. A thousand questions exploded in Hermione's brain regarding the whole peculiar incident, all of them she had been to slow to ask before. Exhaustion slowly won over her body and her overdriven brain and Hermione reluctantly submitted to Madam Pomfrey's ministrations. Downing the potion in one gulp, she greeted sleep with much enthusiasm.

* * * * *

"Well?" Dumbledore inquired as the Transfiguration Professor stepped into his office.

"I've taken Miss. Granger to the infirmary. Poppy will take care of her." reported McGonagall tiredly, "She has received the letter from the Ministry, Albus, so she has some idea of what's going on. Poor child. I told her that I'd talk to her tomorrow."

"Not only you, but if Miss. Granger is strong enough, I would like to speak with her as well."

"Of course," McGonagall nodded. "And Severus too. She'll have many questions, that one. Most of which only he can best answer. Will you be there, Severus?"

Snape stirred from his place in the corner of the Headmaster's office. "If I must."

"Then, that's settled for now," decided Dumbledore, "Mr. Parker? Mr. Shacklebolt?" He turned to the Ministry Aurors. "I thank you for your co operation thus far. Please ask Minister Fudge if he can meet with me tomorrow. The two of us will have a lot to discuss."

"Righty-O, professor," replied Kingsley Shacklebolt, leading his partner out of the office. He waited until, for the briefest of seconds, he was alone in the room and then mouthed _What about the Order?_ Dumbledore shook his head and Kingsley headed off. The three remaining Professors waited for complete privacy before continuing their discussion. 

"Severus, go awaken Filius. Tell him to pack his bags for Caiorn," instructed the Headmaster, absentmindedly reaching out for a lemon drop as he dictated orders. "Filius must begin examining Zeirka's homelands immediately. Oh, and you might want to ask Remus if he'd like to accompany and introduce him to Mesolf and Warrick. Inform them both to come and obtain a Portkey from me at dawn."

"Will that be all, Headmaster?" questioned Snape, before moving away.

"Yes. For now." Dumbledore paused, and looked apprehensively at Minerva as his Potions Master briskly left the room.

"What, Albus?" she asked, taking the hint. "What do you need me to do?"

"If you could perhaps inform the rest of Order that they may resume their assignments?" 

Minerva nodded in affirmation. "Alright. Will I be seeing you at the Infirmary in the morning, perhaps around eight?"

"I shall be there," Dumbledore promised, walking her to the door, before returning to his desk. 

The old wizard resignedly claimed his second lemon drop and readied himself for a long night ahead. He collected a handful of Floo Powder and cast it into the burning fireplace, which obligingly sprouted green flames. 

"Madam Pince." He called out in a rich voice. 

_Let the games begin…_

* * * * *

Hermione's sleepy mind struggled to break upwards from the warm, intoxicating waves that submerged it. Her head felt like a bowling ball balanced on a toothpick – it was so heavy that she could barely use her body to lever it up from the pillow. She was in a heavenly, dreamy state, in which she would have indulged a little bit of snoozing, but something nagged at the back of her unconscious brain… something urgent. With a silent groan of protest, and a surge of inhumane willpower, Hermione pushed away her warm bed sheets, wincing as the cold morning air hit her. It was a necessary evil, one that gave her enough energy to groggily open her eyes and push away the untidy mass of sleep-mussed hair. 

"Good morning, Miss. Granger." A voice rang cheerfully, almost hurting her sensitized ears. "Awake at last." It said with amusement.

Startled, Hermione blinked rapidly until the blurred, smiling face of Albus Dumbledore swam into her vision. He was sitting by her bedside.  As her pupils focused, she realized that Minerva McGonagall sat beside the Headmaster, her face graced too, with a smile; though it was weak and forced. It was the image of her Gryffindor head that triggered the memories of the night before, each flashing scene more powerful and peculiar than the last. Hermione's throat went dry, and her eyes widened with recollection. A small mew of protest escaped her lips, confusion evident on her face. She turned to her two professors with expectant eyes, needing some answers.

"I have with me here," began Dumbledore quietly, pulling out something from between the heavy folds of his robes. Hermione recognized it immediately, her throat clogging up even more at its sight. "a rather interesting letter, wouldn't you say?"

She could barely trust herself to nod. Hermione had been waiting… feverishly hoping… for one of them to tell her it was a joke, but his words contradicted her beliefs. The reality, that the horrid letter spoke the truth, that the malevolent voice in her brain had been right, came crashing down around her ears. In that desperate moment, when everything she knew was seemingly… hatefully unreal, she turned to the best piece of ragged advice her mind had discerned in many panicky situations: _Stay calm. Count to ten, then backwards and then go up till twenty. _

Hermione counted, then nodded, and waited for the Headmaster's next words with the same stomach-churning anticipation as a convict waiting for his sentence to pass.

"Do you understand what it's saying?" McGonagall asked her gently, handing her the letter as if she'd better read it again. 

Hermione bit her lip, fighting the urge to scream at her Head. What kind of idiot did McGonagall think she was? Her frayed nerves were exactly that – Hermione didn't think she could handle any more inane questions, considering she was about to snap. Again, she only nodded.

"I know you must have many questions," Dumbledore paused, "but I must ask you to hold them for the end. It is imperative that you listen to what we have to say."

"I only have one, sir." Hermione immediately handed Ministry's notice to Dumbledore, without giving it so much as a glance. "Explain." She whispered, referring to the parchment that was exchanging hands. Her voice was barely audible but her words echoed deafeningly loud in the peaceful quiet of the Infirmary. 

Snape watched, from the doorway, as Dumbledore put his fingertips together and peered over his half moon glasses, the creamy parchment on his lap contrasting brilliantly against his deep purple robes. _The trademark Dumbledorean pose_, he thought wryly, _and the surest sign of all that ill tidings are abound. A warning to those who possess more than an iota of sense._

The Granger-girl hadn't noticed his arrival, not that he had made much of an entrance. Catching the gist of the conversation, he saw Albus taking a breath. The old wizard's lips parted, as if ready to launch into a speech. It was time, he realized, that he made his presence known.

Snape cleared his throat, and waited for three heads to swivel in his direction.

"Ah, Severus." Dumbledore acknowledged warmly, although the twinkle in his blue eyes hinted slight annoyance. "So good of you to join us."

"And punctual too," glared McGonagall.

Snape imperceptibly tilted his head. It was his dubious version of an apology, but otherwise he remained silent. 

Seventeen years of being a teacher, however disliked, had fined tuned his skills of observing human behavior. Granger was too sharp, too intelligent and independent, too adult to be mollycoddled by the likes of Minerva and Albus. It would achieve nothing: he knew that the girl would easily see through the false reassurance, the words of comfort and wisdom. She would easily be able to pick up on the horrific facts, and sheltering her would be prolonging the inevitable. They would lose her trust, her faith and any hope of saving the girl from the Curse would be swept away the moment Albus Dumbledore opened his mouth and allowed futile words to escape in a torrent. Perhaps the old man had realized that his traditional methods (like the ones he used on Potter) would be sorely inadequate here, but Severus Snape had seldom left things to chance. So, it was with those thoughts that he walked into Hermione's vision, allowed his body to rest against the foot of the bed and twisted his frame to loom dauntingly over the confused young girl lying miserably in front of him.

"Miss. Granger," he said in his low, deep baritone. There was nothing demanding about his tone, but six years of practiced obedience, of snapping to attention at the sound of his smooth voice revealed themselves, as Hermione's eyes automatically flew to his. 

_Anyone else coming?__ Perhaps Rita Skeeter?_ she thought darkly, cursing Professor McGonagall's version of a "little chat". _What the hell is he doing here, anyway?_ In normal circumstances, she would have been embarrassed at being seen disheveled and unkempt in front of the three most influential people at Hogwarts. She knew she would have been more mortified at having to undergo Snape's intense scrutiny during the private hours of the morning when her appearance was less than flattering. Hermione might have been angered at the intrusion of her privacy during her most vulnerable moments of the day, as she was a person who safeguarded her personal space with zealousness expected of any Gryffindor. To top it all, the cool composed Head Girl was currently an emotional wreck… a wreck in _public_, for all the world to see. More importantly, she was sure the Snape was loading up on ammunition to fuel his future scathing remarks, as his black eyes greedily absorbed her distressed state. 

But these were hardly normal circumstances, and despite her reservations about having to deal with Snape, all of the above scenarios scarcely passed her noticing. Hermione believed Snape to be a hardened man, proficient and professional in his duties. She deeply loathed his arrogant sneer and his infuriatingly superior attitude, but if Potions was anything to go by, she knew that he was merciless. Snape could be trusted to be brutally honest, in a way that went beyond the capabilities of her other Professors. 

And, Hermione had always hated not-knowing; as well as hated being the last one to know. So it was fair to assume, after all things considered, that her current predicament was one that she entirely detested from the core of her being. Amidst her confusion and her ignorance of what seemed to be grievous events, she yearned for Snape's harsh demeanor and equally indifferent truthfulness. It would be a refreshing splash of cold water, she decided, that might jolt her out of this mess. Against her will, Hermione was comforted. 

"Miss Granger," Snape said, "No doubt The Headmaster was about to enlighten you about recent events, but I am sure he will agree that that task is left to someone more capable."

When Dumbledore nodded for him to continue, the Potion Master folded his arms across his chest, beady eyes morphing into a deeper shade of black, something Hermione would have considered impossible. "What do you know about The Curse of Lady Zeirka?" he asked carefully. 

Hermione frowned. A pop test on her knowledge about curses was the last thing she had expected. "Nothing much about the Curse itself," she admitted, "but I've heard of Lady Zeirka before."

"What have you heard?"

She shrugged, still unable to figure out where Snape was going with this. "Only that she lived in the age of the Founders and had a brief liaison with Salazar Slytherin. Apparently, she was considered to be very powerful, very rich but she was a bit crazed. Er… it was in _Hogwarts, A History_." Hermione explained, seeing the look on McGonagall's face.

"A grossly inadequate summarization, Miss. Granger," Snape stated smoothly, "and something that was to be expected." Hermione didn't know if there was an actual compliment lurking behind his words, or if it was her imagination. 

"Listen carefully, girl. For what I am about to say, I will recite only once." The Slytherin Head warned.

"But, I don't underst—"

"Of course you don't understand, Miss. Granger, because you haven't listened yet." He said with a mocking air, treating her like an usually thick dunderhead. "Do not interrupt me again, girl. I will not have the patience for it. Have I made myself clear?"

"Indeed you have," admonished Dumbledore, frowning slightly. 

He ignored the reprimand. "In the time of the Founders," began Snape, drawing a breath for a lecture, similar to his regular classroom pose. "roamed a witch who went by the name of Lady Zeirka. She had, under her ladyship, many sacred lands that reeked of raw magical power: power unlike what most wizard or witch had encountered in those days, and even now we have seen nothing similar. Zeirka, over the period of many centuries, became obsessed with manipulating, taming and trapping this raw power. She closely guarded the details of her experimentations, insomuch that they are inscribed in a complex code devised of her own cunning and comprehensible to none but her. For a more personal perspective, she also authored another text which we now know as the _Memoirs of Lady Zeirka._ Not long after her passing, it was discovered that both of her writings were beyond the realm of the Dark Arts. Hence, the wizards of that time agreed that all of Zeirka's scriptures would be safeguarded and yielded to none, for all were believed to hold details of ways to exploit raw magic, which was both unethical and unsafe." Here, Snape paused to collect his thoughts, briefly breaking the spell unknowingly cast by his mellifluous voice. "That is the extent of our humble knowledge."

"Where are the books now?" Hermione asked interestedly, the inquisitive intellectual side briefly taking over.

"In Wizberlot, under the protection of Lord Flabberly," answered Dumbledore, twinkling. 

"That is besides the point," snapped Snape, redrawing their attention to what he believed was important. "The gist of the matter is… rather, was… that the _Memoirs of Zeirka_ were stolen by Lord Voldemort barely four days ago." He waited, for the affect of the revelation to sink in, mirroring what Hermione had done countless times with Harry and Ron, while reiterating notable snippets of information to the boys to no avail. For the first time, Hermione was on the receiving end of the scenario. 

"As unfortunate as that is, Professor, I still fail to see how it relates to me," responded Hermione, coolly meeting his impatient gaze.

Spotting his Potions Master's irritable expression, Dumbledore intervened. "My dear girl, the _Memoirs_ contained an especially detailed account of a unique Dark Curse. As you well know, Lady Zeirka and our own, esteemed Salazar Slytherin had a short affair which ended rather bitterly. It was this bitterness that motivated Zeirka to devise a new curse with which to punish Salazar."

"How was he punished?" asked Hermione shrewdly, as the pieces began to click in her brain. "Salazar, I mean. Did Zeirka cast a Curse on him? What did the Curse do?"

All the three Professors shared meaningful looks. It was Snape who finally spoke. "It was described that six months after Lady Zeirka's abrupt departure from Hogwarts, Salazar experienced an upsurge of righteous emotion concerning the admittance of Muggleborn students. He had always held a biased belief, but the feeling behind it had intensified. More so, was the suspicion that his companions – Godric, Rowena and Helga – would lead the school to it doom and the fact that suddenly, he could barely tolerate their company. Salazar soon left Hogwarts, and we believe this hasty action to be an affect of the Curse."

Hermione hugged herself. She didn't know why, but the nagging feeling that had plagued her sleep had suddenly returned. While her mind was working furiously to process the information which she had been given to her, she felt that she was missing something, but she couldn't put her finger on it.  "So, this curse… Zeirka's Curse, forces the victim to do something… evil? Disruptive? Hateful?" Hermione absently voiced her thoughts, searching for the appropriate words as she did so. 

McGonagall beamed at her, as Dumbledore nodded approvingly, but his face was grim. "Very good, Miss. Granger. The Curse forces the victim to do whatever their heart least desires. To commit an action normally beyond their contemplation, something that clashes entirely with their true personality."

His words were followed by an eerie stillness. Three professors watched, as one of the most intelligent pupil that had ever graced their school, struggled while trying to make sense of her situation. None of them had any doubts that Hermione would make the mental connections independently – it was only a matter of time before she did. McGonagall tensed, waiting for the unfathomable to dawn upon her Gryffindor, one who was more precious than others, not that Minerva McGonagall regularly picked favorites, of course. They all saw her freeze, noted how her eyes quickly darted towards the letter that rested lightly on Dumbledore's wrinkled hand. 

For Hermione, her world shattered the second time in 24 hours, as she grasped the whole meaning of the Ministry's notice. She looked desperately from Snape, to Dumbledore, to McGonagall; pleading with them.

Slowly, Dumbledore rose from his chair and sat next to her on the edge of her bed. He gently took Hermione's hand and placed it between his grandfatherly ones, blue eyes glistening with unshed tears.  "I'm sorry, Hermione" He said quietly. "I'm am so very sorry that you will have to bear Tom's wrath. Yet, to your credit, I know you shall defy him." 

Even as he said the words, McGonagall came up on her other side, her face filled with sadness and compassion. With Snape still standing at the foot of her bed, his expression indecipherable, the three professors had formed a ring of protection around her. It was comforting as it was claustrophobic. Strange, she thought, how some things make you want to cry with relief and scream with rage at the same time. 

"N-No…You're wrong. YOU'RE WRONG" she shouted, opting for the second, more satisfying reaction. "I COULDN'T HAVE DONE IT. I _WOULDN'T_ HAVE DONE IT. YOU HAVE THE WRONG PERSON. YOU'VE BLOODY-WELL-FUCKED UP! YOU AND THE MINISTRY—"

"We don't know how you managed to Apparate and Disapparate from Hogwarts," continued Dumbledore firmly, the pearly gleam to his eyes giving him away. "But, Professor Flitwick assumes that since the Magic controlling you, was as old as Hogwarts itself, you could have slipped through the wards and reached London. We also think that the nature of this magic, deprived you of your memories regarding the actual incident. They may return afterwards, but that is simply speculation—"

"—EXACTLY. YOU _DON'T_ KNOW ANYTHING. THEY WERE MY PARENTS, FOR MERLIN'S SAKE. USE YOUR DAMN HEAD. I LOVE THEM. Did-You-Hear-That? LOVE, NOT LOVED—"

"Mr. Shacklebolt and Mr. Parker sighted you just before you returned to the school," McGonagall said taking over from Dumbledore, observing his weakening stance. "The Ministry realizes that you did not act of your own will that night, and they have allowed us to keep you here—"

"I DID NOT ACT OF MY OWN WILL BECAUSE I WASN'T THERE!" Hermione snatched her hand away from Dumbledore, pushed McGonagall aside and clambered out of bed. "I DON'T WANT TO LISTEN TO THIS—" She declared with her head held high, intending to leave the Infirmary. 

Snape blocked her. "You will listen to this, Miss. Granger, because you need to hear it."

"Get out of my way, Professor."

Snape's upper lip curled. "Are you quite finished throwing a tantrum, Miss Granger?" He asked silkily. "Because we have better things to do than to waste our time trying to console a five-year-old brat."

"I'm eighteen, sir" hissed Hermione through gritted teeth. "And rarely a brat without reasonable provocation."

"I'm not going to argue with you, Miss. Granger" said Snape, his previous derisiveness oddly absent. "Deep down, when you have returned to your senses, you know just as well as I do, the nature of the truth. Save yourself unnecessary trauma, and use your trademark Gryffindor courage. Face _up_ to the facts, Miss. Granger, rather than allowing them to face you _down_.  Say it: you were Cursed by Lord Voldemort and murdered your parents under its influen—"

"HOW DARE YOU? YOU EVIL, ARROGANT BASTARD!" Hermione screamed, all rational thought processes abandoning her, self control vanishing with her innocence. 

"—SAY IT, HERMIONE. DO IT. DEFY THE ONE WHO HAS BROUGHT THIS UPON YOU—" Instead of getting a coherent reply, Snape received punches and scratches from an 18 year old girl who had most definitely reached her wits' end.  Not that he could blame her, Snape ruefully conceded as he warded off enthusiastic blows. A couple  caught him under the chin and the sides of his face, others hitting his ribs with a gusto. _If nothing else_, he thought as his dark humor got the better of him, _Miss.__ Granger will be undoubtedly popular for avenging the woes of countless students_. 

"Potion…left pocket… get…it" He managed to gasp, wrestling and almost losing the fight with the teenager. 

McGonagall deftly Accio-ed the potion and grasped Hermione's chin, easing apart her lips and forcing the mysterious liquid down. "There, child. Drink it. It'll be better… you'll see." She soothed.

An instant later, Hermione fell limply unconscious in the Potions Master's arms. The Gryffindor raised an eyebrow at Snape.

"I'm assuming that I did not poison my own Head Girl?"

"I've never considered a stronger, modified version of the Dreamless Sleep potion as anything particularly life threatening, Minerva." replied Snape dryly, placing the unconscious teenager upon her bed with uncharacteristic tenderness and pulling the covers over her unresponsive body.

"I wouldn't put it past you to do something like that." said McGonagall, darkly. "You'd find it hilarious." Suddenly she sobered and touched the young man's arm. "Thank you, child. You did very well." 

Snape felt uncomfortable by the sincerity in her words. "Nothing that you could not have done yourself, Minerva." He said, at last.

"Poppy will be able to take care of her since the worst has been weathered. You are a good man, Severus." added Dumbledore, patting his shoulder as the three made their way out of the Infirmary. "One of the very best." 

McGonagall smiled inwardly, as the younger man glowered. It was as good as wheedling out a blush from the brooding Slytherin.

* * * *

A/N Boy, if I thought that the last chapter was hard to spit out, hex me, because this one takes the cake. However, looking at my "Plot Plan" , I have no idea how I'm going to pull off some of the future… (way in the future) chapters. Thanking everyone who reviewed. I know I haven't made personal notes to each reviewer, but I'll do them all at once in the next installment. As for the reviews themselves: please KEEP THEM COMING!! They inspire me to continue… I'm sure you guys know what I'm talking about. But for now, here is your complimentary set of questions:

Too dramatic? Too unreal? Just plain brilliant? Or does it make you wonder why you're still reading?

As I looked over my story, I picked up quite a few errors (many of them grammatical)… sorry bout that. I can usually spot my mistakes, but English isn't my first language, so the gut feeling "That-Sounds-About-Right" is still developing… until then, my dear, sweet readers will have to suffer. Also, to those of you wondering why Hermione's being charged even though the Ministry knows it isn't her fault… keep reading… *grinz*. 

To those of you who care, Robert Harris's new book "Pompeii" has just reached my island… ha! I've been waiting (nay, drooling) with anticipation… do not have enough money to buy and so have signed up on the waiting list in local library… if you have read it, a few subtle hints wouldn't go amiss with this overly excited fan!!!

Right. I'll go now…

  



	5. Chapter Four

**Disclaimer**: I own nothing but the plot, and even some of that is not mine. All belongs to the great JK Rowling. 

**Summary**: Forbidden curses and ancient magic, brooding Potion Masters, manipulative twinkling smiles, dark lords with diabolical connections and, of course, the unforgettable bushy-haired genius. HG/SS 

MUST READ AUTHOR'S NOTES AT THE END!

****

****

****

**Chapter Four:**

There was quiet. 

As Hermione fuzzily opened her eyes, the only coherent thought floating through her brain was _escape_. Stumbling out of bed, she changed out of her nightwear and grabbed her school robes. Hastily conjuring a piece of parchment, she scrawled a quick note to Madam Pomfrey, before leaving both her wand and the note on her bed. The walls of Hogwarts were closing in on her, each crevice between the castle's stones radiating magic – the very thing that had destroyed her family. The passages were silent and mercifully deserted, and she escaped onto the Quidditch pitch and the Grounds beyond. She could hear the sounds of joyous laughter and bubbling chatter emanating from the Great Hall. She could imagine Harry and Ron dining with the rest, carefree grins oblivious to her raw, clenching pain. Ridding herself of her thoughts, she walked as far as she dared to go, eager to leave the magical presence of Hogwarts behind. The night was her humble shawl. It would shelter her for now. And she needed sheltering. 

The Forbidden Forest loomed closer, dark trees hiding malevolent shadows. Hermione was cold and tired. She didn't need strenuous exercise, but needed to do strenuous thinking. Hermione looked over her shoulder, at the castle glowing with warmth and life. Golden light, cast by rich fires nurtured by House Elves, escaped from windows and cheery babble echoed within the heart of  the stone walls. The atmosphere, which had made her feel warm and lucky and giddy in the past, was precisely opposite to what she wanted… needed now. Her radiant fires had been snuffed out yesterday, along with everything – she thought – had made her human.

Suddenly feeling as if a black hole would sprout from the ground and swallow her up, Hermione staggered to the nearest, lone tree and collapsed onto the frosty grass, her back resting heavily on the rough, rugged trunk. Only then, when the nightly breeze played with her hair; when the silvery stars shone down from the heavens; when Hermione felt that… something else… was bigger than the dreadful ache in her heart; did the seventh year allow herself to release. Perhaps when the full well of tears and hate and guilt was thrown out into the calm of the universe, the whole scenario wouldn't seem like a life-shattering blow. Perhaps, if she rid herself of every horrible emotion, every memory, the guilt and the helplessness; she'd be able to move on. As racking sobs tore through her body, while images and scenes shredded her brain, Hermione briefly wondered that the Dementor's Kiss would be a welcome haven. Not that she deserved a haven, of course, but after killing one's own parents… what was one more sin to add to the list?

* * * * *

"Four minutes, I swear" said Madam Pomfrey to Dumbledore, wringing her hands in worry. "I left her alone for four minutes, Albus, and when I returned, Miss. Granger had left this for me. Along with her wand."

Dumbledore glanced at the note, and then back at the school nurse. "Don't worry, Poppy. Stay in the Infirmary in case she returns. I have full confidence that Miss. Granger will not act rashly, but, Minerva? Will you kindly fetch Miss. Granger?"

"You know where she is?" Pomfrey asked, astonished. 

"The Ministry requires us to cast a Tracking Charm on Miss. Granger, if she is to stay at Hogwarts," McGonagall explained, "But I would advise that we let Miss. Granger return on her own accord. The poor girl will need time to herself."

"I agree." Snape said, walking up to the group. When they waited for him to expand on his comment, he glared and said nothing.

"It cannot be helped," replied Dumbledore, firmly. "Miss. Granger must be told that she cannot run off unsupervised. Go get her, Minerva, and take her to the Towers. Dobby has informed me that they have been rendered habitable."

"Alright," McGonagall sniffed, not taking to the idea of confining her prodigy to one small part of Hogwarts. "When shall she see you?"

"Whenever she feels ready." The Headmaster replied, sinking into his chair and letting Fawkes nibble his right index finger. 

McGonagall left the room with Snape at her heels.

"You look tired, Albus." Pomfrey observed, toying with her wand.

"Put that thing down, Poppy." Dumbledore instructed, his eyes twinkling. "I'm fine." He added, seeing the concerned expression on her face.

"I doubt that," She muttered, unconvinced. "I'm not going to get anywhere with you today, am I Headmaster?"

"Not today, you're not," Dumbledore agreed, smiling fondly. 

"Take care, you hear?"

"I will. Good night, Poppy."

"And you, Albus."

Dumbledore smiled inwardly. It took friends like Poppy Pomfrey to convince him, that adding another day to his 120 years spent in a pitiful world, might actually be worth the effort.

* * * * *

"Minerva!"

"Yes, Severus?"

"Let me do this."

A pause, "Alright. I'll wait at the front steps."

"You can take over from there, then."

"I intend to."

* * * * *

It was cold. The breeze had morphed into wind. Hardly playful,  the moving air was bitter… and cold… but it had dried her tears. A part of her was glad that she could actually feel something, even though it was just the cold, while the other half said that she'd be better off not feeling anything at all. After all, if she had _unfeeling_ killed the two people whom she had loved and cherished; who had loved and cherished her; then blocking out everything that came afterward shouldn't have been a problem.

The real Hermione Granger who had lived happily as a Muggleborn witch; who had excelled in all of her classes, the real Hermione who had gone on to become Head Girl and was the pride and joy of her parents… she couldn't come to grips with the deed that she had allegedly committed. Allegedly. Because all she had was a letter and Dumbledore's word. It was so easy for her to deny it and she had given into the temptation. Now, while taking in lungfuls of fresh air and staring at the clear night sky, she could at least think. And perhaps, accept. 

Hermione had no memories. That's what made it so simple to reject it all. Under the heavy gaze of the twinkling stars, she was reminded of Dumbledore and his wisdom. The kindly old man was leading the Light into battle; the best that the wizarding world had to offer, along with more than 2000 children and staff, trusted Dumbledore. So, why couldn't she? Because the same man had told her that she had killed her parents. 

What was it that Snape had said? To face the facts? Had she trusted Snape to give her the facts, that night? To tell her the truth about everything? Because that's what it all boiled down to, Hermione thought, bringing her knees to her chest and hugging them tightly. Did she trust her Professors – people whom she knew as merely 2 dimensional masks – to completely break her and then, _trust_ them to bring her back? For if her mind tentatively acknowledged the reality presented by these 2 dimensional characters, she would be more than broken.

With a deep shuddering sigh, Hermione's brain accepted. She had killed. No, Voldemort had killed. But it didn't matter, because they had died because of her. 

A wave came. It swelled in her chest, surging with indescribable power until Hermione felt that she would burst into a million pieces. Every realization, every memory and thought she had steadfastly blocked from her mind, broke free with a forcefulness that left her skinned and raw and gasping. Somewhere from her swirling depths, rose a shrill cry, the intensity of her wretched emotions fuelling it, leaving her heart empty and hollow in its wake. Slowly, the urge to scream receded, allowing her to breathe. 

Then, another waved fueled itself into a climatic peak. And another. And another. 

Until Hermione could have died there, alone and engulfed by her misery.

Such was her trust in her two dimensional characters.

* * * * *

"Miss. Granger?" Came the soft voice, as if afraid to intrude upon her silence. 

He had heard her scream and cry and wail. It was one of the few occasions when he had been confronted with such stark, pure, unbridled emotion, and he had retreated into the shadows. Severus Snape had waited until his student had come to terms with her loss.

"Miss Granger?" Snape posed the question to darkness, facing the general vicinity where he presumed Hermione to be sitting. His eyes were slowly adjusting themselves to the lack of light, and soon, he could make out the faint outline of a human figure leaning against a tree, head bowed and arms wrapped tightly around slender legs.  Snape wished he could cast a _Lumos_ spell, but it was best, an instinct told him, not to disturb her environment.

Snape had almost given up, when a small, hoarse voice replied: "G-Go away, Professor. I said that I'd return to the castle in my own time, and I will." Hermione didn't ask how the bat had found her. She had seen a blue light around her wrist: the tell tale sign of a strong Tracking Charm.

"I'm afraid that's out of my hands, Miss. Granger." Snape answered smoothly, "Ministry's orders are that you are to be appropriately supervised at Hogwarts, or they shall ensure supervision at Azkaban. Take your pick, girl, because traipsing near the borders of the Forbidden Forest is definitely forbidden."

"Why don't you stay here and watch me from that corner, then?" asked Hermione evenly, "That'd be enough _supervision_ for the Ministry, won't it?"

"Don't argue with me, Granger." Snape said, eyes narrowing in the dark. A part of him was relieved at being confronted with insolence rather than hysteria. "If you have any qualms, take it up with Professor Dumbledore. I'm sure he'd love to humor a fellow Gryffindor, but we Slytherins do not. You will accompany me, so get up! My time is precious."

A pause. 

"I-I can't. Not yet." 

There was something about her tone.

Snape cursed repeatedly under his breath. He moved towards the small figure and knelt down beside her, until he could see two round eyes staring at him, her pupils reflecting the heavens above. 

"You will do this." He said intensely, infusing the same obscure entity in his deep voice as she had done in hers. Snape, balancing on one knee, held out his hand, striving not to break eye contact as he did so.

His statement was met with stillness. An eternity passed before he felt her stir. Hesitantly, a frail soft hand slipped into his outstretched palm. Snape waited in the dark, until their grip became more confident, until he could feel that she was ready.

"You will do this," Snape said again, his voice barely audible, and yet more persuasive than anything Hermione had ever heard before. 

His efforts were rewarded by an imperceptible nod. It was a slight, tense jerk of the head detected by his heightened senses. Snape rose, pulling the young Gryffindor with him, feeling the atmosphere change around her as she brushed off her robes and straightened her shoulders. Letting go of her hand, he walked back towards the castle at a slow pace that would give his student much needed time to regain her composure.

* * * * *

"Why me?" Hermione asked, breaking the silence and falling beside Snape as they moved towards Hogwarts. It was the perfect time to ask him, and she dearly hoped that he would answer. Snape was a goldmine of information but he wasn't very generous with his gold. "Why would Voldemort, out of so many candidates, choose me? I know that I'm a Muggleborn and Harry's friend. But still, wouldn't his precious resources be better spent by Cursing a founded, more valuable member of the Order?"

"Think, Miss Granger, and you will realize that you have answered your own question." Snape muttered, casting a Lumos charm to illuminate their path.

She suppressed her exasperation. "If I _could_ think, sir, I wouldn't be asking you something which – apparently – I already know."

A pause.

"If there is one thing you must learn; it is that the biggest things which occur in  life are seldom centered upon the receiving individual." He revealed cryptically, at last, while throwing his student a sidelong glance.

Hermione stared at him. Since when, had a greasy, snarky, Potions-Obsessed recluse, begun sprouting out Dumbledorean pieces of advice?

"Do live up to your reputation as a Know-It-All, Miss Granger." Snape snapped, irked by the disbelieving look on her face when he had shown the slightest iota of compassion. By Merlin! He knew he was a bastard, but _really_.

"It shouldn't be too hard for a self-acclaimed genius to grasp the real reason behind her own, sorry state. Unless, you are a Lockhart in the making?" He raised an eyebrow, and although his expression was carefully blank, Hermione knew that there was a sneer hovering behind those thin lips. 

She glared at him to no avail, especially in the dim light of a Lumos spell. "It's about Harry, I know that." Hermione replied briskly. "But that can't be the whole reason, can it?"

"It is the 'whole reason', as you put." Snape averted his gaze to the front steps of Hogwarts, where his sharp eyes caught movement. Good, he thought, becoming tired with their conversation. He turned back to Hermione. 

"The Boy-Who-Is-Destined-To-Destroy-Darkness is at the young age of 17 years. He already holds the deaths of many on his conscience. How do you think Mr. Potter will react if he finds out that you were forced to kill your parents – something that was a direct consequence of your friendship with him?" Snape paused. "The news will destroy him, Miss. Granger. It will break him even more to see your promising future marred by such a catastrophic Curse."

Hermione remained silent. Her Professor continued: "The greatest weapon that fuels the Dark Side has nothing to do with powerful magic. It is their power to create emotional havoc, something that few are immune against. What better opponent that an emotionally unstable one? An opponent unable to clear his thoughts of emotions, and hence an opponent acting under a self-inflicted cloud of irrationality?  What better way, for the Dark Lord to cripple a boy who has thwarted him numerous times?"

Again, there was silence. Snape briefly checked her face and was unsurprised at the sight of tears trickling down her pallid cheeks.

"We have one defense against this internal attack." He said in a quieter tone, seeing the dark figure of Minerva McGonagall move towards them from afar. "You _must_ _not_ yield to the cloud of darkness, Miss Granger. Your task is to be the pillar that your friend undoubtedly needs, for weakness in his resolve signals the destruction of the wizarding world…Ah, Professor McGonagall. I trust that you will escort Miss. Granger to her new rooms?"

"Of course. Of course." McGonagall replied absently, drawing the Head Girl to her. The older woman's eyes hardened at the sight of Hermione's wet face and McGonagall threw a questioning look at Snape. 

He shrugged in reply, turned on his heel, and left without a word. 

"Come with me child," McGonagall spoke softly, draping an arm around Hermione's shoulders. The younger girl didn't know whether to accept or reject the comfort. "You must rest."

Hermione closed her eyes, and opened them with a shuddering breath. Slowly, she relaxed and allowed her Head to lead her weary body and an equally overwhelmed mind.

Such was her trust in her two dimensional characters, and it was duly rewarded.

 * * * * *

A/N: So, how was that?

**MUST READ:**

Errrm, yes. Made some big bloopers last time, but thankfully they aren't disastrous to the plot. As of now, **Hermione Granger is 17 yrs**, as pointed out by my dear reviewers, rather than 18 yrs (which was the age I presumed her to be). If I become less lazy, I might edit the last chapter. But for now, I am focussing on getting Hermione a guardian (*sighs mournfully*) which was something I wanted to bypass. I took my wrongful assumption by judging my cousin's age, who graduated from high school at 18.****

Personally thanking the following people for their reviews regrading the last 2 chapters:

**Page**, **Mesawul**, **Delas**, **Daxi**, **Makalani** **Astral**, **Kurtfan**, **Crazy**-**lil** and **Dragonmaster**: Thanking all of you guys for your ego-boosters. They keep me going and I hope I will not disappoint in the future. 

**Sadeness**: yeah, I noticed that too. Sorry *smiles sheepishly*, but I hope it doesn't deter you from the story.

**Emily*****Lyef**: Thank you. Sorry about the age thing, I know it gets annoying when a fanfic writer messes up canon. And I was hoping that Snape would think it would be healthier for Hermione to be allowed to express her grief (him having experienced its power first hand and all). Unfortunately, as we know, it got out of hand and Snape was forced to give her the potion. Hope that explains it and eases any frustrations. 

**Jenny** **Rad**: Thanks for your practical, positive comments. I might join WIKTT later.  I hardly have time to write as it is, and I don't think it would be fair to ask people in WIKTT to beta my story if I am unable to give something extra back to the community. 

KEEP ALL THOSE REVIEWS COMING!! EACH ONE MAKES MY DAY!


End file.
